


In Here

by itsmadeofgold



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Community: kradam_kiss, Kradam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmadeofgold/pseuds/itsmadeofgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shotgunning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Here

"They'll know what we're doing in here," I said.

  
Adam had smiled, popping the joint into his mouth. His lips curled up around it.

"What are they going to do?" he said. "Call the cops?"

And that was it for that conversation. What came between that moment and this one, with smoke swirling around us and coloring everything a dusty blue and gray, is a bit fuzzy now. What is clear is the feeling of my heart beating, which has become percussive, and if the smell that is seeping from under and around the thin door of the tiny bathroom doesn't wake the other guys, I'm sure the thundering sound will. But somehow over that I can make out the steady in-and-out of Adam's breathing, probably because he is two inches in front of me and his breaths and mine are easy to confuse at this proximity.

We are not talking but I kind of feel like we are in a way, because he smells really good and I keep moving closer to take deep whiffs of him. And I look up at him and he is looking down, and when he breathes out a long ribbon of smoke and arches one eyebrow it's like he's asking me what I'm doing, and when I smile and close my eyes halfway, breathing him in again as he watches, I am saying _you smell good,_ and that's as much as I want to say right now anyway. When he turns the joint around and hands it back to me with a smile, seeming to press closer to me still, he is telling me that it's OK, that he's glad I like being close to him.

It's citrusy, or something. Flowery. But not girly, there's something underneath that's... spicy. Exciting, or something.

  
I can't help it, I want to move in closer and before I know it my nose is brushing the skin of his neck. And I didn't mean to do that, not at all. But Adam sucks in his breath and his body jerks forward a little bit, and that surprises me because who knew Adam was that high-strung? I let the smoke I was holding out in a long gust and realize that Adam has one hand firmly gripped on my hip.

I can't remember how many times I've hit the joint. I don't know why I'm wondering, except maybe because of the way Adam's looking at me now and how it seems _impossible._ Maybe I feel like it must be a hallucination, an exaggeration of reality because I'm high. I must've had at least five or six hits, I think. Plenty to mess with my senses.

I think.

I don't remember handing the joint back to Adam but I guess I did because he it hitting it now, his lips making a tight, perfect _O_ around the tip, his cheeks hollowing as he inhales. His eyes stay on me, narrowed and dark, and when he pulls the joint away with a small _pop_ , a whisp of smoke curls at the corner of his mouth and he licks his lips like he's chasing it. His mouth curls up at the edges as he stands there - looking down at me from just inches away, smirking as he holds his hit - for just a moment. And then his hand comes up, cupping my face under my chin, guiding my mouth open as he moves down toward me; and then he is exhaling, blowing smoke into my mouth. He pushes harder into my lips, closing the seal, and my body finally catches on to what's happening and I start to inhale.

The smoke is the same as it always is - bitter, earthy, warm - but somehow combined with the feeling of Adam's hand against my neck and his mouth against mine, it feels like I am inhaling fire. Like a flame licking through my body, down each nerve and blood vessel, lighting me up as it goes.

When Adam pulls away I exhale the hit almost instantly. I forget that I'm supposed to hold it, forget everything except the heat that's everywhere around me, swirling in the smoke now.

Adam is holding the joint up to my mouth. He is so close that he's pushing into me now, holding me up against the wall. I am flattened against his front and I can feel everything on him, and I know he can feel me, too.

"Suck," he says.

I open my mouth and take the joint and puff on it, and I keep my eyes on him because he's watching my mouth and I'm thinking about mine and his touching again and how I can't wait for that to happen. And it seems like maybe I'm not supposed to want that, but I can't remember why and I have the vague feeling that I'm not supposed to remember, that right now forgetting all that is the best possible thing I could do.

So when he pulls the joint away from my mouth I forget pot smoker etiquette once again and move up on tiptoes right away - I can feel my body sliding along Adam's, our clothes shifting between us - to push my mouth against his. He opens for me immediately and I exhale, and I can feel him breathing in, like he is taking the air right out of my lungs and I know that he is.

I stay there, my lips just barely touching his, as he holds the hit for just a moment. When he exhales he almost gives it right back to me, I am so close, but I don't inhale; instead I realize that I was holding my breath as long as he was, and I exhale along with him.

The tiny room is thick with smoke, a spinning, whirling cloud and I know the entire bus must reek and I cringe at the thought, then grimace at myself for letting my mind wander. I'm not supposed to be thinking, I'm supposed to be enjoying -

And then Adam's lips are on mine and my breath is gone again because he's pushing into me like he means it this time and for just the tiniest fraction of a second my mind goes in two directions, one of them here and now and _oh my god, it is as good as I knew it would be_ and the other continuing the road it had just been traitorously traveling to come up with _they know what we're doing in here_ once again.

I wave that part of my mind away as quickly as I can move my hands up to bury in Adam's hair, pushing against him with a whine and so much force I'm sure I'll have a bruise. They don't know, really. Nobody knows what we're doing in here, not even us.


End file.
